Author: BO

When we last saw Iron Man saving the day, he was a member of the
Avengers, teaming up with his superhero friends to save the Earth from a
city-smashing alien invasion. Unable to topple that mighty achievement,
co-writer/director Shane Black selects an insular path for the arrogant
but lovable Tony Stark, and that unusual mix of spectacle and personal
inventory keeps “Iron Man 3” stuck in neutral, unwilling to soar as
summer entertainment while frustratingly confused with its gratuitously
expansive storytelling. One major sequence nearly saves the whole
endeavor, but what Black has here is flat and overstuffed with contrived
comic book business, feeling about as heavy and immobile as Stark’s
famous armor.
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In 2004, writer/director/actor/producer/composer/editor Shane Carruth
brought “Primer” into view. A no-budget but highly sophisticated picture
that exhaustively explored the elasticity of the time travel subgenre,
“Primer” was appreciated by a cult following that adored Carruth’s
attention to detail and steely moviemaking approach. Nearly a decade
later, the filmmaker returns to screens with “Upstream Color,” out to
top his earlier work in the realm of abstract details and indie cinema
polish. A brain-bleeder with no particular need for an audience,
“Upstream Color” marks a bold creative step forward for the helmer, now
blessed with more forgiving funding to explore his nervy yet calculated
eccentricities.
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Vampire movies have had it rough lately, what with the “Twilight” saga
managing to regress fearsome, sensual creatures into dour Teen Beat
centerfolds, complete with shimmering skin. “Kiss of the Damned” isn’t a
rebuttal to the world of Edward Cullen, but it does a fine job
reminding audiences that bloodsuckers are far more amorous and
reprehensible than popular culture suggests. Stylish and seductive,
“Kiss of the Damned” is more of a macabre snapshot than a cohesive
picture, capturing a specific throb of sexuality that helps to ignore
frustratingly slack storytelling from writer/director Xan Cassavetes,
daughter of famed filmmaker John Cassavetes.
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There are times when “Generation Um…” is an authentic indie production,
and there are moments where it feels like a parody of one. At the very
least, it’ll be the one film this year where the audience is treated to a
sequence comprised entirely of star Keanu Reeves eating two cupcakes.
Perhaps that alone should be a gauge to the must-seeness of the movie.
For those who decide to stick it out, “Generation Um…” doesn’t reward
the patience, supplying a meandering, intellectually shallow inspection
of fried minds attempting to communicate their innermost pain while
bombing around New York City. It’s a patience-tester, salvaged only a
smidge by Reeves’s uncanny ability to remain perfectly still while his
co-stars strap on acting school rocket packs and pinball around the
frame.
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“The Numbers Station” earns points for being a somewhat original take on
the bunker thriller subgenre, using a spy vs. spy world of codes and
assassination attempts to beef up an otherwise simplistic siege story.
While not a terribly convincing picture, “The Numbers Station” has a few
moments of workable suspense and puzzle solving, while star John Cusack
supplies an appealing restless energy to the effort, strengthening
scenes that would otherwise die on the vine. Strictly for fans of the
stars and perhaps those with an insatiable curiosity about career low
points, the feature is certainly digestible, but rarely memorable.
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It’s interesting to consider how some actors find their way into
starring roles. A few years back, Colin Firth won an Oscar for his work
in the worldwide smash “The King’s Speech,” and now he’s found himself
in “Arthur Newman,” which is far removed from the high-profile screen
challenges the leading man has enjoyed recently. Although the material
is threatened with a dark undertow of mental illness, the overall
inertia of the effort comes to rob the film of such intensity,
meandering through misadventures with the two leads instead of attacking
the story at hand. Though Firth and co-star Emily Blunt work to inject
honesty into their performances, the feature doesn’t sustain much
substance deeper than surface ache. It’s more indulgently mournful than
motivated.
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It doesn't take long, perhaps five minutes, before it's abundantly clear
that "The Big Wedding" is going to be of no use. Commencing with vague
introductions, the material is soon asking Robert De Niro to prepare
Susan Sarandon for an impromptu session of oral sex on a kitchen
countertop before Diane Keaton nervously interrupts, resulting in a
touch of physical comedy as the amorous characters try to find their
composure while dealing with dangling underwear and an untamable
erection. It's how the movie begins, folks, and the next 80
minutes aren't an improvement. Unlikable, unthinkable, and unwatchable,
"The Big Wedding" proves that bright stars and a reliable romantic event
is no match for an ugly and tone-deaf screenplay, chased by amateur
direction.
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"My Brother the Devil" has powerful individual moments, truly honest
emotional searching that gives the material depth the movie doesn't
otherwise possess. Though it comes across as yet another inspection of
misspent youth in a rap-saturated council estate setting,
writer/director Sally El Hosaini scratches a little deeper to explore
the bonds between siblings, where influence and approval reign supreme.
Being her first film, "My Brother the Devil" is kneecapped by stiff
scenes and overcooked performances, but as a whole, the picture
introduces the world to a promising storytelling talent with more on her
mind than sneers and straightforward criminal interests.
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The key to 2010’s “Birdemic: Shock and Terror” was its sincerity. It was
a genuinely awful feature from an enormously incompetent filmmaker, a
man who thought he could match his idol Alfred Hitchcock in the suspense
department, only to make a mind-numbingly tedious, technically
disastrous picture about global warming, attacking birds, and young
people dealing with vaguely defined vocational triumphs. Of course, it
was hilarious to watch, leaning into every last creative pothole
writer/director James Nguyen created, studying a movie that had
absolutely no ambition beyond being a movie, and it often failed at
that. Molded into a midnight movie phenomenon, sold on its badness,
“Birdemic: Shock and Terror” transformed into something of a hit. And
with any unexpected cinematic success comes a sequel, whether we want
one or not.
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After the 2011 release of the global blockbuster “Transformers: Dark of
the Moon,” director Michael Bay wanted to challenge himself again. After
years of gargantuan features, “Pain & Gain” represented a return to
roots planted with the 1995 action comedy “Bad Boys,” offering Bay a
chance to cause a comparatively low-budget ruckus in his favorite
filming location: Miami. The robots in disguise are gone, replaced by
equally destructive bodybuilders on the hunt for the American Dream, and
while the potential of this true story is immense, Bay resorts to his
old tricks, making the picture more frustrating and deadening than
raucous. Intentionally ugly and mean-spirited, “Pain & Gain” somehow
believes itself to be a coked-out, body-smashing good time at the
movies. Instead, it’s quite a chore to sit through. Read the rest at Blu-ray.com

The power of great cinema is a special thing. With “Mud,” the screening
audience I attended the film with fell in love with the picture,
physically and verbally invested in story and character to a degree I
haven’t been exposed to in a very long time. It was a unique moviegoing
adventure for a classically conceived effort, standing somewhere between
a Mark Twain novel and a David Gordon Green feature (at least one where
he’s not trying to be funny). Somber and engrossing, “Mud” is like
paging through a terrific book containing a few dull chapters, with
writer/director Jeff Nichols (“Take Shelter”) creating an evocative
atmosphere of mystery and misfortune, captured through well-rounded
personalities, patient screenwriting, and ace acting from most of the
cast.
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“Welcome to the Punch” is a steely, stylish picture, yet it lacks much
of its titular promise. Weirdly abrupt and largely inconsequential, the
feature is only good for a few decent shoot-outs and chase sequences,
where writer/director Eran Creevy shows potential with visceral
elements. However, consistency of storytelling eludes him, with “Welcome
to the Punch” prone to meandering with complex character associations,
almost showing disinterest in itself. Thankfully, a cast of solid U.K.
actors pick up the slack, bringing intensity and behavioral nuance to an
otherwise airy actioner that feels severely pared down from its
original intent.
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After flirting with the abstract and the surreal in the midst of slasher
film shenanigans with “Halloween II,” writer/director Rob Zombie has
decided to scratch the itch in full with “The Lords of Salem.” A bizarre
mind-bomb of a movie, the feature represents a slight change in
direction for the helmer, who once had a ball raising hillbilly hell and
now appears to be consumed with atmospheric nightmares, with a heavy
tilt toward psychological erosion. “The Lords of Salem” isn’t for every
taste, with those hankering for a vicious joyride into the black heart
of witchcraft sure to walk away disappointed. The effort is best suited
for viewers willing to allow Zombie time to chase artistic impulses and
genre obsessions, to let the doomsday weirdness gradually wash over
them.
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Despite a few public animosities and a prolonged break-up period, Cheech
and Chong have remained a force of comedy for over 40 years, which is
no small achievement. Fans have come to expect a certain impish,
pot-laced sense of humor from the duo, and “Cheech & Chong’s
Animated Movie” delivers exactly that, playing like a greatest hits
album of old bits, interpreted through the click-and-point miracle of
modern cartooning. Strictly for the faithful, the feature is essentially
a victory lap for the pair, recycling their brand of drugs-n-fart humor
in an attempt to entice a new generation of stoners aching to see such
antics colorfully rendered onscreen.
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